Neverland
by SerynnLux
Summary: "But how do I get there?" The boy demanded.   "With faith love and pixie dust" The man replied.   Reviews would be lovely my dears.


**Hello my lovelies, this is just a short little ficlet I came up with randomly while studying and needed to be written, it's also a way to assure some of my other readers that I'm not dead, just busy and still working on things… (sort of). And I know this is different than my usual, I just needed to have some fun with it so …..**

**But any way here it is and I would love if you could leave me a review please and thank you with a cherry on top.**

**Anything and everything recognizable belongs to J. M. Barrie.**

An old man shuffled into the room, his breathing wheezy and his back bowed as if by a great weight. His appearance was slightly peculiar, with his brightly coloured red vest and his puffy shirt sleeves, and his white candy floss hair sticking out of his head in tufts. Slowly he sat down in the chair by the bedside his rheumy hands smoothing out the silk brocade of the coverlet.

He fondly looked up at the boy under the covers, his thin and pale fingers clutching at a journal. The boy looked up, his pale blue eyes weary, but sparkling with curiosity. The boy lovingly fingered the pages, pages filled with the old man's writing, his life's work. Stories and poems and nonsense. The old man bit his lip against the tears that threatened to spill at the small frail boy in front of him, it was so unfair that this young one should be so ill and suffering when he, an old man, was living and would likely be so for the next few years.

"Where do you go when you write?" The frail voice interrupted his thoughts. The man looked up to see those blue eyes peering at him. Slowly he closed his eyes and marshalled his thoughts. This was a nightly ritual, the boy asking the same question and the man giving the same answer.

"_It's a place closer than the second star to the right, and father than the furthest reaches of heaven._

_It's more common than dust but rarer than diamonds._

_It's the easiest place to get to, but also the hardest to leave._

_It's the smell of a rose and the bite of the cold._

_It's the safest place on earth and the most deadly force in existence._

_It's darker than the night sky, but brighter than the moon._

_It's delicate and unbreakable._

_It's what you see every time you close your eyes_

_It's what happens when someone says 'What if?'_

_It's what you see when you look at a painting or pick up a book._

_It's the thing that binds us, and the thing that fractures us._

_It's the single most powerful thing in the world._

_It's what allows us to be here right now._

_And it's all around us._

_There it is. Can you see it? Catch it quick before it leaves, because once it's gone it won't be back._

_Don't worry though; a new one will be along soon._

_That's the beauty of it, it's fickle and forever, changing and eternal. But always constant._

"But what is it?" The boy demanded. The old man smiled and gently pulled the book out of his hands, closing it, but carefully marking the page.

"It's that fairy tinkling like a bell at the window. It's that flying feeling you get when you look at the starry sky." Slowly the man pulled the blanket up to the boy's chin. "It's imagination" the boy seemed to think about this, shifting down under the blankets and snuggling in with a sigh. The old man leaned forward and kissed the boy's head, brushing his dark hair off of his forehead tenderly.

"How do I get it?" The boy demanded suddenly. The man smiled warmly once more.

"With faith, love, and pixie dust." The old man murmured. "And by flying to the second star to the right and straight on till morning. Now good night young man" The old man moved painfully to the door, his joints aching from even the small time sitting down. Just as he got to the door the boy spoke again.

"But where is it?" He asked sleepily. The old man smile yet again and turned down the lamp before answering.

"It's in Neverland Peter. Because it will never leave you" he said quietly, closing the door and leaving the sick little boy on the other side to his dreams of fairies, mermaids and a pirate called Hook.

**Well my dears this is the first public attempt I have made at poetry so feedback would be greatly appreciated, even if it's a flame. And as for my other stories, I promise, as soon as school ends, I'll be back to working on it. Thanks for pushing that blue button.**


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